Social Studies - Book One is the first in a trilogy of short story anthologies with the focus on social issues.

Social Studies - Book Two is part of a trilogy of short story anthologies focusing on social issues.

Social Studies - Book Three Weaving Alice Plus Eleven is the third book in a trilogy of short story anthologies focused on social issues.

The time is 1916. Sara is a 10 year old girl in rural Prince Edward Island. Roy is a 10 year old boy in mining town, Nova Scotia. Through their eyes we see, feel and experience their childhood challenges. We follow them through adolescence and their turbulent teen years. We celebrate their courtship and suffer their lost innocence in the wedding ritual. They take us through the Great Depression and share with us the frustrations, dreams and challenges they face in adulthood. As parents they introduce us to their children. This story appeals to all ages because Sara and Roy hold up a mirror and ask the reader to recognize truth about the human condition for many Canadian families through difficult economic times. We witness love that does not come neatly wrapped and experience the quiet, sometimes desperate, drama of lives unfolding.

Michael Custis Washington is a young black slave living on a cotton plantation in the Province of Virginia. He was born in 1802. Left an orphan at the age of five he is taken into the big house by his master, Alfred Gordon, to be trained as a house servant. While in this house he suffers severe emotional and sexual abuse. When he finally runs away with his wife Lucinda he is helped by the Quakers. Through the Underground Railway they reach the Elgin Settlement in Ontario, Canada. Freedom is his at last. But when the American Civil War breaks out in 1861 Michael chooses to join the Union Army. He works his way back to Virginia. Is he seeking justice or vengeance?

Ellen is a woman I came to know well during the writing of my third novel Ellen and The Hummingtree. She often puzzled me yet she also had the ability to make me laugh and cry. I grew to love her. And the more I came to know her I began to realize that she truly is a composite of the many caring spiritual women I have known throughout my life. Alzheimer is a dreadful disease and Ellen's victimization is a heartbreak. My writing of Ellen and The Hummingtree comes straight from the heart. I hope you will love her as I do.

Excerpt from: Moose Road, a Canadian Tragedy by Audrey Austin Chapter One: SEVEN DWELL NEAR "Tell me a story, tell me a story, tell me a story and remember what you said." Ever since that terrible day of the tragic accident each of the residents who live by my side has a tale to tell. Yes, everyone has a story and each story teller speaks his own truth. What I do find curious is the fact that no two stories are alike. Each is unique in its own way. I am of the opinion that truth is multi-sided and speaks from many hearts. A very long time ago I heard someone repeat the words of Winston Churchill who is purported to have said, "The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is." Yes, indeed, there it is. Truth is multi-sided and it dares to speak from many hearts. I have been around for a very long time. I existed in this very location even before man decided to give me a name. I guess that makes me old and, that being the case, I confess I am very old. I was here before any person chose this place to build a home. I have always thought I possessed a firm grasp on reality but since the day of the tragedy I am questioning for the first time the meaning and the impact of truth. I have more questions than answers. Is it possible that truth is, indeed, no more than one's personal perception? Each individual's truth, until shared, is locked in a sacred space in one's memory. Memory does have its share of weakness. It can be faulty. As weeks turn into months memory is often tested. "Tell me a story and remember what you said." I find it very interesting that the residents of the seven farms impacted by the tragedy each retain a different personal memory of the accident and its aftermath. Although I am well aware that it would not occur to any ordinary human that an old long-travelled country road could possibly have the capacity to remember, I can assure you that I do. Yes, indeed, I do have a memory. Even though I am very old it remains a good one. I do remember well. Some thoughts give me reason to smile while other memories I would prefer to forget. I have learned that the more painful memories are the most stubborn; the least likely to be forgotten and the most likely to be remembered. Even when a human believes he has managed to bury a painful memory he has not. That remembrance will pop up like a jack-in-the-box. It will present itself at the most odd and unexpected of times and sometimes even in the form of a recurrent dream. Of course, I am not a human. I can assure you that I am a no nonsense road; plain, practical and from my very first appearance on earth many generations ago I have made it my focused mission to do my duty and fulfill my purpose as I see fit. I have always taken great pride in my existence and to this very day I do my best to serve those who choose to travel upon my surface. Unlike humans who are, I have learned, sometimes very superficial creatures, I am not shallow. I don't blame the travelers for being unable to see beneath my surface. But I assure you I am not just the visible thin layer of gravel you might observe at first glance. I do have substance. Yes, I am old now. I have been here in this spot in northern Ontario, Canada for many interesting and enduring lifetimes. Although I am a road less travelled I am still in pretty good shape. I expect I'll be here for a few more generations. I can see no good reason why I should not continue to be here. I have never existed anywhere else on this earth and this is my home.